


Hoping for more than poetry

by idk_books



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Friendship, Secret love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:55:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23189602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idk_books/pseuds/idk_books
Summary: After Phyllis gifts her some poetry in the wake of Patsy's departure, Delia uses the excuse of returning the book to reach out in the hope of unburdening.
Relationships: Delia Busby & Phyllis Crane, Delia Busby/Patsy Mount
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	Hoping for more than poetry

**Author's Note:**

> I love the idea of an unlikely friendship developing between Delia and Phyllis after Phyllis realises the reality of the relationship between Patsy and Delia. I think Phyllis' no nonsense approach would be just what Delia would need and I tried to realise that with this fic!

Barbara was out at the pictures with Tom or perhaps they were busy with wedding plans. Or holding hands in the churchyard. Whatever it was, Delia knew, by a process of elimination, that Phyllis was alone in the room she shared with Barbara. She could picture her pouring over her Spanish textbook, absently chewing on a barley sugar. It was this image that made her hesitant; she really didn’t want to disturb that picturesque solitude. However, the two weeks allowance for the book of Spanish poetry she clutched was up and she was hoping for more than just to return it. When Phyllis had given her the book, she’d spoken to her in such a way that suggested she might provide more support than Federico García Lorca could.

The allowance on the loan of the book being up meant it was two weeks since Patsy had gone and two weeks since her heart was ripped in half. She was still hesitating outside of Phyllis’ room. She could hear low mutterings in Spanish which she was reluctant to interrupt. Then again, she didn’t want to go overdue on the loan. Despite being touched by the sentiment, she ultimately struggled to find much meaning in the poetry so she had no need to hang on to it for longer than necessary. 

She swallowed and knocked. The mutterings stopped and she heard the creak of the bed as someone lifted themselves off it and stepped towards the door. 

“Delia?!” Phyllis failed to conceal her surprise as the door eased open, “Whatever’s the matter? Barbara’s not here at the moment.”

“No, I know. It’s you I was looking for actually.” Delia held the book up slightly and Phyllis took it. 

“Oh, thank you. Two weeks precisely, thank-you.” Phyllis stepped back as if to close the door. 

Delia almost let the door shut but remembered why she was there, “Actually, Phyllis, I was wondering if I might come in. For a bit. You could tel me a bit more about this Lorca. Help me make sense of it all. His poetry, I mean.” 

“Oh, erm. Yes, I suppose. For a bit.” Phyllis held the door open and Delia stepped inside. She settled herself on Barbara’s bed before opening and shutting her mouth, unsure of what to say now.

“Barley sugar?” Phyllis held a crumpled paper bag across the divide between them.

“Oh, thank you.” Delia took one and smiled, “Sorry, I haven’t got anything to give in return.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. So. Señor Lorca. What did you think?”

“If I’m honest, I found it all a bit baffling. I sometimes wondered if he’d make more sense if he’d still been in Spanish.”

“Lorca can have that effect. Especially in Spanish.” Phyllis smiled, “I sometimes find it’s a case of persevering until you ‘tune in’, so to speak.” She handed the book back to Delia, “You may find he’s worth another visit. Delia took it, realising that she didn’t really have a choice.

“There was one poem I found. It was the one you recited to me the other week and I found it in here and I just kept coming back to it. I think I understood that one.” she said, “For some reason.”

Phyllis looked at Delia, eyebrows slightly raised, encouraging her to continue but Delia wasn’t quite ready for that, “Do you know if Nurse Mount has arrived in Hong Kong?” she prompted. 

Delia shrank back slightly at the mention of her name but gathered herself before replying, her voice thick, “Her boat will have arrived by now,” she sniffed, “I think. I haven’t heard from her though,” she continued quietly, “but I suppose it’ll take a while for any letters to travel.”

“I’m sure she’ll be in touch in due course. It’s never good to dwell too much with situations like this.” 

Delia smiled weakly, not trusting herself to speak and they sat for a moment, opposite each other not quite making eye contact.

“It must be very hard,” Phyllis murmured, “to be parted like that. Especially so abruptly and with so much uncertainty.”

Delia swallowed, “Why did you give that poem to me? I mean. Why did you think I needed it?”

Phyllis - usually so confident - was suddenly unsure of what to say.

“Because,” Delia forged on, “Everyone’s Patsy’s friend but you didn’t recite poetry to them. And it was the choice of poem. It felt very particular. Deliberate even.”

“I think you know exactly why I shared that poem with you, Delia,” Phyllis said quietly. “I knew you’d be feeling a very particular sense of loss. One that came from more than a mere separation of friends.”

“You know?” Delia whispered.

“I know what I think I know,” Phyllis said carefully, “and I’m not asking you to confirm or deny anything. I just want you to know that you can trust me and I suppose that’s what I was trying to say with the poem.”

It was at this moment, with these words, that something snapped inside Delia and she sobbed for the first time. Sobbed for the loss she’d been feeling so acutely but so privately. Sobbed for the love that was suddenly trapped on the other side of the world. Sobbed for the loneliness that had haunted her for so long. 

“Oh, lass. Come here.” Phyllis had moved next to Delia, pulling the weeping nurse into a clumsy embrace. “I can’t begin to imagine what the two of you are going through at the moment but I want you to know that it’s perfectly alright to let it all out and have a good cry. And she just held Delia until the sobs subsided and she extricated herself from the embrace.

“How did you know?” she asked, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her dressing gown. 

“I saw you,” as she spoke, Phyllis gently handed Delia a handkerchief, “early one morning. She was leaving your room and the way you looked at each other and the way she took your hand as she left. It just made sense.”

“Have you said anything to anyone else? Barbara?” Delia struggled to keep the panic out of her voice.

“Oh no!” Phyllis said quickly, “It wouldn’t be my story to tell.”

“Thank-you.”

Phyllis moved back to her bed so they were back facing each other, “Would you like to tell me about it? Your story? I don’t suppose there’s many people you have told it to.”

Delia looked down, fiddling with the cuff of her dressing gown,“No there isn’t. Nobody at all. Well apart from Patsy of course.” Delia almost winced as she said her name, suddenly feeling very exposed.

Phyllis smiled, coaxing Delia into meeting her eye, “You don’t have to say anything at all but I find it never does any good to keep things forced down inside.”

“I love her,” Delia said, startling herself at how emphatic she sounded.

“I know,” Phyllis murmured warmly.

“But not in the way that Trixie loves Barbara or Barbara loves you,” Delia added quickly, suddenly desperate to make herself understood.

“I know that.”

“Are you disgusted?”

“No, I’m not,” Phyllis chuckled quietly, “It may come as some surprise to you but I am a woman of the world and I’ve seen enough to know that love is something to celebrated in whatever shape it takes.”

The tears silently returned, sliding down Delia’s face.

“You’re secret’s safe with me and I hope that one day it doesn’t have to be a secret,” Phyllis continued, passing the handkerchief back across to Delia.

“That’s what I long for,” she whispered, almost inaudibly.

“Right, Nurse Busby.” Phyllis said, snapping back to efficiency, “Thank you for bringing the book back but I imagine Barbara will be back any moment and I should like to be in bed and out of the way when she gets here.”

Delia, taking the hint, stood up and smoothed the eiderdown on Barbara’s bed where she’d been sat. “Thank-you,” she said simply. 

“It’s been a pleasure, Delia. And I think you’ll find Barbara’s often out with Tom at the moment what with the wedding to plan. So if you wanted t pop in again. You know, for a chat and a barley sugar.”

Delia smiled and silently slipped out of the room.


End file.
